Sweet and Bittersweet
by SoundzofSilence
Summary: Meet Deneve, a sugar addict who rivals L. She is a tough young women trained in martial arts, yet a sensitive college student who needs a little sweetness in her life to counteract the bitterness from her brother. OCxRyuzaki, also known as L
1. A Bitter Fight

"Please buy me an ice cream, Phillip. I forgot my wallet, but I promise I'll pay you back later," she pleaded her younger brother, who stood before an ice cream stand, purchasing a waffle cone filled with vanilla. They were near the park, just out for a casual stroll, when the siblings had happened upon a convenient concession stand that conveniently sold frozen goods.

Phillip smirked as he paid the man and accepted his cone. "Why should I, Deneve?" he asked her, licking the snack to irritate her.

It worked, but Deneve swallowed her anger and pride to achieve her goal. "Because I'll man-check you," she smirked back. Basically, a man-check was code for checking to see if he was a man by punching him where his balls should be.

Phillip hung the hand that wasn't holding his ice cream to his side, near his family jewels just in case his elder sister decided to follow through on her word. "Give me one good reason."

"I just did."

"That was a threat, not a reason."

"I'm your older sister."

"That doesn't count."

"Yes it does," Deneve frowned. "You should respect your elders, and I'm your elder sister."

"I don't think buying you things falls under the category of respect," Phillip replied with another taunting lick of his vanilla ice cream. "Besides, with all the sweets you eat you'll get cavities. See? I'm trying to keep you healthy."

Scowling, Deneve considered using violence to force her way, but Phillip had grown taller and more muscular. Her punches barely fazed him anymore, unless she landed one on the area of every mens' Achille's heel. Now the brat was becoming more difficult to reason with because he learned from her tricks.

"Healthy-smealthy, everyone dies and life is short so let me enjoy it," she told Phillip through pursed lips, "plus you're not the boss of my life. That's our parents' job, not yours, _little_ brother." On the verge of losing her temper, Deneve pulled up her collarbone-length curly golden hair into a ponytail in preparation for a possible showdown of physical strength.

Regarding his irascible older sister carefully through brown eyes, Phillip licked his ice cream slowly and carefully as though considering his options; buy his sister ice cream or fight. A gentle, cool breeze did nothing to cool Deneve's temper as she glowered at her sibling, her blue eyes noting the wind ruffling Phillip's brown hair which was styled like the Beetles, and they waited in the tense silence for Phillip's decision.

Calmly, he set the ice cream on the counter of the stand. "Keep an eye on this for me," he told the Japanese man behind the counter, not taking his eyes off Deneve. She fought dirty like a street fighter.

Eyes locked on each other, the siblings marched in fuming silence until they stood in the middle of a huge clearing of grass, surrounded by trees. The beauty was lost on Phillip and Deneve, who stood a yard apart facing each other and waiting for one of them to attack first.

"This is pointless," Phillip tried to reason, body tensed for an unexpected attack. "We're both trained fighters and it's stupid to fight over ice cream."

Deneve kept her facial expression hostile, and her voice frigid. "I think we both know this goes deeper than ice cream." Beginning to casually saunter in a circle around him, Phillip mimicked her movement, his face difficult to read.

"Then what is this about?" the brother asked, tone light. He acted as if they weren't about to beat and kick the crap out of each other.

"You tell me."

"I dunno. You tell me, fattie."

Red blinding her eyesight for a moment, Deneve snapped, "I am _not_ fat, you unfeeling block of a bastard. I happen to be of average weight."

"Which is amazing considering how many sweets you consume," Phillip added dryly. "Yesterday alone at a birthday party, you ate three slices of chocolate cake with heavy frosting, three scoops of ice cream, and a giant rainbow-colored lollipop the size of my _fist_."

Deneve bristled. "I hadn't eaten breakfast, okay? Get off my case. The dentist and orthodontist haven't found any cavities yet so why should I change my eating habits?"

"Because it's unhealthy."

Changing direction, the sister stopped attempting to circle her brother to attack him from behind, and chose to stride toward him, hoping to attack from the front. Phillip backed up, but he couldn't cover as much ground without looking backwards or turning around, leaving his back exposed to Deneve. "So? Like I said, everyone dies eventually and I want to enjoy life," she retorted.

"You'll die faster than everyone else if you keep eating that much sugar. Don't you want to see your kids have grandchildren?"

"No," she snapped. "I'm not going to have any kids. This world sucks so why subject my flesh and blood to suffering? I don't want to be alive to watch them suffer through the agony of life."

"Life's not all bad," Phillip answered guardedly, his arms raised in preparation for a punch.

"Well, you're an optimist, but I just—" Deneve suddenly lashed out with her leg instead of her fist, kicking her brother's kneecap. Cursing, he grabbed her leg and twisted his sister around so fast she landed on her back, flashes of white and black stars exploding in her head.

Rolling out of the way, Deneve narrowly avoided her brother's large foot stomping where her stomach had been, his intended stomp damaging nature, not flesh. Quickly, she rolled to her feet in a crouch but Phillip had expected that and Deneve shut her eyes as his fist collided with her left eye. Grabbing his arm, the blonde fell back, dragging her brother with her.

Landing on her back, she pushed her feet into his stomach, kicking so Phillip flipped over and landed on his back. Deneve nimbly continued the roll until she landed on her feet, quickly whirling around to face her brother. She kept her swelling black eye shut, glowering with her right eye.

She despised him so much right now.

She wanted Phillip to just vanish, go away, so she could nurse her wounds or forget about the problem.

But what she wanted and what was happening were two very different things, and Deneve would just have to deal with the current tight spot she had landed herself in.

Phillip got to his feet, lowered in a ready crouch before he tackled his elder sister to the grass. Openly cursing her brother and his existence, Deneve allowed herself to snap and become a berserker, losing control to her animalistic wrath. She punched, kicked, bit, scratched, twisted, screamed, and raged alternately and Phillip returned the favor.

After what felt like an eternity of buzzing pain and white hot anger, suddenly Phillip stood and ran away.

Sitting up, Deneve screeched after his retreating form. "That's right! Run away!" She sucked on her bleeding bottom lip and spat on the grass. It was red. "Coward!" she added for good measure.

Then Deneve lowered her head, her golden hair curtaining her face, and she sighed tiredly. "I'm a terrible sister." She and Phillip never got along well nowadays, although they had been practically inseparable in childhood, but those days were over.

As she stared at the grass, the resentful anger and adrenaline rush faded, leaving a terrible aching, hollow hole in her chest. The blonde blinked away unshed tears and wiped her bloody lip. "I have to be tough," she scolded herself. "Time to check for injuries." Mechanically, Deneve delicately inspected her own body but her mind was replaying the fight over and over like a rerun of a horrible soap opera.

A black eye, split bottom lip, plenty of bruises and cuts, but no broken bones; Deneve considered herself lucky. Usually she or Phillip broke at least one bone or ended up in the hospital when they fought nowadays.

Composing herself with a long exhale, the blonde limped back to the ice cream stand, grimacing as she put weight on her twisted ankle. "Damn that boy," she muttered, ignoring the Japanese man's gawking, as she snatched Phillip's mostly melted ice cream from the counter. Deneve limped to the nearest park bench.

She plopped down and stared hard at the melty vanilla beginning to drip over the edges of the waffle cone. Deneve sighed. She couldn't eat it now; it reminded her of Phillip. Licking her wounded bottom lip, Deneve knew she should ice her ankle and black eye, but the Japanese ice cream man would probably charge her for ice, and she was currently yen-less.

"Today is not my day," the blonde told the melting dairy product, then eyed the ice cream considerately. It would go to waste to throw the treat away, but Deneve couldn't eat it yet she thought of a better use for it. Squeezing her left eye shut tightly, she spread her legs apart, leaning forward, and stuck the melting, cold surface of the ice cream on her closed, aching black eye.

Maybe it wasn't the cleanest or most brilliant idea she'd had, but it was resourceful. At that moment, Deneve didn't particularly care Phillip had been licking the ice cream earlier. It was cold. It slowly stopped the throbbing in her left eye.

She hadn't sat in that position for more than a few minutes when someone noticed.

"I always assumed one was supposed to eat ice cream through the mouth, not the eye," a flat male voice commented.

"Eating and icing are two very different things," Deneve responded dryly, lifting her head and lowering the ice cream cone, to glance at the heckler through her right eye.

A white, baggy, long-sleeved shirt, equally loose faded blue jeans, the stranger made for a bizarre figure. He had a vampirish-ly white complexion so pale that his skin almost seemed translucent. Worse, his black eyes were framed by heavy black bags around his eyes. Then there was his spiky black hair that defied gravity. The dude looked like he'd rolled out of bed.

"I see. You were in a fight very recently. Maybe ten minutes ago," he stated, his thumb resting on his bottom lip pensively. Deneve didn't answer. She was too busy wondering how someone as young as this stranger –he seemed about her age, maybe attending college out of high school—could be so hunched over. Or the lack of footwear on his bare feet.

Deneve felt the melted vanilla on her eye run down her cheek and drip on the dirt between her legs. Sticking her tongue out, she tried and failed to lick some of the ice cream trailing down the side of her face. The blonde gave up and ignored it.

The strange young adult shuffled to the bench and literally crouched beside Devene, who wondered what kind of lifestyle this stranger had. Strangely, he sat poised on his feet, legs curled against his chest, with one thumb resting on his bottom lip much like a child. Deneve couldn't help but stare incredulously; the bizarre, dark-haired stranger didn't seem to notice or care.

"What were you fighting about?" he asked, boldly wiping away some of the ice cream from her cheek and licking the vanilla from his index finger.

Wondering how she should react, Deneve raised her eyebrows. "Well, the ice cream cone in my hand," she sighed, "and my unhealthy eating habits. According to someone, the amount of sugar I consume isn't healthy." Her voice had become low and irritated.

"That depends on the amount of sugar consumed," the rumpled-looking guy responded. He repeated his gesture of wiping the ice cream from her face and licking his finger. "How much do you consume?"

"Um…" It was difficult to think with the stranger cleaning her face in an odd fashion. "Yesterday I ate…three slices of chocolate cake with lots of frosting and sprinkles…three scoops of ice cream, a rainbow lollipop this big" –she held up her fist—"and…oh yeah, a handful of gummy bears."

The stranger's hand had frozen on the side of her face, his thumb about to wipe away vanilla that was threatening to run down her face again. His plain, expressionless face revealed his surprise if his widened eyes were anything to judge by.

Deneve felt her face heat up. "What?" she muttered defensively, jerking her face away from his hand. She couldn't look at his face. "I have a mouthful of sweet teeth." After hearing Phillip's accusation and witnessing this random guy's reaction to her sugary addiction, the blonde felt extremely embarrassed and disgusted with herself.

"I have plenty of sweet teeth."

Jerking her head up in astonishment, she stared at the now smiling stranger who seemed oddly delighted. Her self-loathing had evaporated into curiosity. "Really?" she asked, her face brightening, but the movement stretched her black eye too much. With a soft hiss of pain, Deneve covered her left eye and dropped the waffle cone filled with liquid vanilla.

"Stupid male," she murmured under her breath.

"Boyfriend?"

Deneve grimaced. "Worse, brother. Boyfriends I can get rid of, brother unfortunately I have to live with."

"You and your brother fought over that little vanilla ice cream cone?"

"And my eating habits," she sourly reminded the stranger. "Oh yeah, what's your name?"

"Ryuzaki. What is your name?"

"Deneve."

Leaping from the bench to a standing position, Ryuzaki shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced at her expectantly. "Follow me. I'll buy you some ice cream and then get those wounds treated."

"Thank you. That would be…amazing," the blonde smiled, wondering if Ryuzaki had a sweet personality that came with his teeth. It astonished her that a total stranger could be so much more understanding than her little brother; also that a stranger would buy her ice cream whereas her own sibling refused to do so.

Gingerly, Deneve stood and hobbled alongside Ryuzaki toward the ice cream that had been the catalyst for the chain of events. At the stand, the black-haired weird guy, with startling gentleness, dabbed the ice cream from the blonde's left eye before buying her ice in a bag.

"What is your favorite type of ice cream?" he asked. Ryuzaki didn't seem to notice the Japanese ice cream man was nervously eyeing Deneve.

"Hmm…" she licked her bottom lip, her tongue lingering over the tender split. "Vanilla."

He bought two, keeping one for himself, and after a quick call to someone on his cell phone, Deneve frowned. "I wonder why he bought vanilla…he really doesn't like it too much…"

"Your brother?"

"Yeah."

"Why?" Ryuzaki asked, clueless.

The blonde scowled, ignoring the pain in her bottom lip as the skin stretched. "You know those annoying things siblings do just to piss you off?"

"No," he told her seriously as they headed for the streets.

He must be an only child, Deneve reasoned. "Well, things like my brother bought the vanilla ice cream I really like just to push my buttons because he knew I didn't have my wallet. That's an example." She felt her breath taken away as the ice touched her black eye.

Lapsing into silence as they reached the streets, a sleek black limo waited near the sidewalk and an old man who gave off the air of a gentleman had the door open. Deneve kept her astonishment to herself as she climbed in after Ryuzaki and drove off. Instead, she focused on spinning her cone as her cold tongue trailed along the base of where the cone began and the ice cream ended, slowly working her way to the zenith. The blonde momentarily abandoned the makeshift ice pack on the seat to her right since Ryuzaki sat on her left.

_Okay, this is weird,_ Deneve decided as she pretended to be absorbed with the vanilla. _A pale rich kid going out in public dressed like he left the house after rolling out of bed?__ Wonder why his parents never stopped him from always staying in that hunched position...This guy is not ordinary. He's so pale, kinda like those vampires people are going gaga over these days._

"What do you think?" Ryuzaki suddenly asked, his attention entirely focused on the girl sitting beside him.

Finishing her last bites of the cone, Deneve nodded. "Tasty."

"I was referring to your opinion of me, not the ice cream."

"Oops!" she flushed. "Um, you're not tasty. I mean, I wouldn't know that or anything because—I'm shutting up now." Deneve's blush deepened as she heard the old man driving chuckle, and she decidedly ignored him. "Well…you're definitely interesting," she admitted, holding the ice to her eye. "It's difficult to say…I haven't really made my mind up about you yet, Ryuzaki."

"I think you have, but you're leaving room to second guess yourself," he stated, watching her. "There's an eighty percent chance a person already knows the true nature of a stranger within a few minutes of interaction."

Deneve almost whistled, but remembered her lip injury. "That's a high percentage. People are more perceptive than I originally gave them credit for, but how come it seems a majority of them aren't perceptive? They don't pay close enough attention?"

"Yes." Ryzaki placed his thumb on his lip again. "Many times the important things are overlooked." If Deneve felt she was missing something glaringly important about her bizarre companion, it smacked her in the face now. Obvious answers to some of her questions flooded to mind.

Ryuzaki was pale because he rarely went outside or he spent most of his time indoors, gazing at a computer screen or a television; maybe he had insomnia, but he definitely didn't sleep much, if at all by the way his gaze seemed listless. However, an explanation for the wealth and his strange posture was still beyond Deneve.

Again, he commented out of the blue. "You have an unusual tomboy personality for someone with a sugar tooth."

The blonde shrugged. "I'm like an M & M: hard on the outside, sweet on the inside. I have to be. If I were sweet through and through, someone might come along and turn my inside bitter or try to steal my sweetness." Her blue eyes glittered curiously. "I wouldn't exactly categorize you as a sugar lover either, Ryuzaki."

"I am like…" the curled up young adult paused to think of an appropriate analogy. "Dars Bitter Chocolate." The chocolate was a Japanese product, lacking in sugar but still delicious.

"Interesting," Deneve mused, not pressing for the reasons behind it. "So you eat sweets to keep yourself sweet. Man, you must have a depressing or bitter life…I guess there's a lot of reasons a person could be a sweets lover."

"We are here," Ryuzaki mentioned seconds before the door to his left opened. The blonde had barely noticed the car stop or the fact she'd stopped icing her black eye. Hurriedly, she placed the chilly pack on her wound and waited for her host to leave the car first.

He didn't move. "Go in the hospital with Watari. I will wait here until you return."

"Alright. Thank you again, and don't get too bored. Strawberry short cake afterward?" Deneve flashed Ryuzaki a wide smile, which he returned.

"I would like that," he murmured, his usually blank face lighting up.

She slid out of the limousine with her heart performing gymnastics in her chest, spotting the old man who had driven them to the hospital. He truly did look like a gentleman, an English one. Sporting a black tuxedo, Watari, as Ryuzaki had called him, had a brush-like, white mustache, a receding hairline but kept his remaining white hair combed back, and wore wire-framed glasses. He gave off a kind, compassionate grandfather feel.

The blonde liked him immediately.

"Come, Miss Deneve, we mustn't keep Mr. Ryuzaki waiting." His half-lidded eyes twinkled with pleasant emotions.

She would have smiled if her lip hadn't been split. She trailed Watari into the hospital and glanced around to give the place a visual once-over as the old man spoke to one of the doctors or nurses. Glancing down at her clothes, Deneve realized that her baggy green pants and black t-shirt shirt had faired rather well under Phillip's blows and the lush park grass; her blue right eye detected only a few visible stains on her pants.

"Miss Deneve, I will be outside if you need me."

She paused in brushing off her pants to smile up at Watari, or try to. "Thanks for driving me here and putting up with me."

"No problem. I'm sure Mr. Ryuzaki doesn't mind your company." Somehow, the way he spoke those words, and how Watari carefully chose something, Deneve guessed her black-haired acquaintance didn't hang around people too often or have many friends.

Leaving her to her thoughts, the old man exited the white-wash building and the blonde tossed her mostly melted bag of ice into a trash bin. Alone, Deneve felt acutely more aware of her surroundings and more vulnerable. The sterilized, chemical-filled air made her more self-conscious; maybe some of it was that she swore she could smell a little bit of death lingering in the air too. The walls, the outfits, the floor—everything was either white or gray. Suddenly Deneve remembered why she'd always begged her parents to take her out of the hospital early, her healing progress be damned.

"Please follow me for your examination," a nurse briskly ordered the blonde, holding a clipboard. Without waiting another moment, the nurse pivoted and strode down a hallway; she didn't bother glancing back to ensure Deneve was following.

Sighing, she reluctantly hurried after the quick-walking nurse.

* * *

This fanfic was inspired solely by my only other current Death Note story saved under my favorites: Cake and Sarcasm. Thank you for inspiring me!


	2. A Bittersweet Waiting

At least fifteen minutes later, she left the hospital with her black eye covered with gauze and plenty of bandages on her body. The patch of gauze had been Deneve's request. It prevented her from being tempted to open her left eye, but her visual balance felt thrown off. Before she climbed into the limousine, the blonde wondered whether to believe her right eye or not as she ducked her head down, sliding inside the Rolls Royce.

The first thing Deneve noticed was that Ryuzaki was gone. He had said he would be waiting, but maybe—

"Mr. Ryuzaki sends his apologies," Watari explained as they pulled away from the hospital. "Something urgent came up that couldn't be ignored."

Deneve shrugged. "It's cool." Since her dark-haired acquaintance would be preoccupied, the blonde silently mourned the lost opportunity of sharing strawberry shortcake with him. Leaning back in the leather seats, she stared out the window and sighed, then shuddered. By now Phillip would have returned home, bruised and bleeding, and tattled on her to their parents. Deneve had a feeling both of them would be punished but she would be taking the brunt of it, and that brunt would most likely include the loss of sweets.

Deciding to avoid the inevitable as long as possible, she would wait on Ryuzaki until sunset when she would be compelled to return home and face the impending justice of her parents. However, occasionally Deneve felt like the severity of the justice her live-in judges handed out was based on how injured one of them was. The less injured carried more punishment, the more wounded got less penalty. Since she had nothing better to do, as Deneve sat in the limousine, she replayed the argument and the fight over and over until she could repeat it verbatim. Then the blonde judged her previous chastisements, weighing them against the current fight. Stalling would allow hot heads to cool, she decided.

Deneve was still weighing the odds when the limousine stopped, and she quickly let herself out of the fancy car before Watari could. "I've got it handled," she told him with a smile as the old Englishman headed toward her limo door.

He smiled back. "Follow me." Deneve swore Watari's smile hid something.

For the first time, she checked her surroundings and was impressed. "Wow…Ritzy hotel," she commented aloud to herself. Deneve doubted many people in the modern century knew what the term 'ritzy' meant; the word had gone out of style after the nineteen twenties, but ironically enough, it meant elegant, fancy, or in style.

Watari led her up a few flights of stairs and directed her into a hotel room, telling her to stay put and if she needed anything, Ryuzaki's room was across from hers. Nodding, Deneve couldn't help but wonder what the dark-haired young man did for a living or how he lived. The more she learned about him, the less everything about him made sense. What rich kid lived in a hotel and not a mansion?

"Another mystery to occupy my mind," she murmured aloud to herself, taking in the hotel with raised eyebrows. Deneve never felt so spoiled.

The room was spacious, to say the least, and decorated in deep shades of red, purple, gold, and an occasional flare of green. The blonde could pick out a king-sized bed, a table, several assortments of chairs, a television, a fridge, and microwave. Deneve risked an impressed whistle, and then sucked on her now bleeding bottom lip. First, the blonde tiptoed to the bathroom, peering in and then stared at her reflection in the mirror, scowling. She looked like some cross between a goth, a regal lady, and a punching bag. Gently pulling her ponytail from her curly golden hair, Deneve noted her ladylike appearance slightly lessening her pirate-like look. Especially with her gauze-covered eye nowhere in sight.

Rolling her visible blue eye, she eyed the bed. "I wonder…" she mused, a slow smile growing. In a burst of energy, Deneve ran toward the large bed, jumped, and landed on the bouncy, plump surface with a laugh. Lying on her back, the blonde kicked off her shoes over the side of the bed, her socks shortly joining her tennis shoes.

Weaving her fingers beneath her head, Deneve stared at the door and smiled. "C'mon Ryuzaki."

Although the fascinating acquaintance, maybe even friend, didn't arrive through the door or pop out of nowhere, the blonde patiently stared at the ceiling. She passed the time by wondering what punishment her parents would give her for fighting with Phillip.

"Probably nothing sugary for two weeks…making me exercise, eat healthy crap…they'll probably ground me too, for, oh, maybe a week," Deneve muttered to the ceiling, her tongue absently running over her bottom lip. "No movies, no hanging out with friends, no T.V., no computer, no iPod—basically house arrest or lockdown." She sighed. "I might as well enjoy my waning free time."

The blonde glanced at the door, although she knew Ryuzaki was busy in the room across the hall. After flipping through all the channels on TV, Deneve discovered nothing worth watching was on –what was worth watching nowadays?—and shut off the television. Her mind wandered to the mystery of Ryuzaki.

"Watari suggested with his tone that Ryuzaki doesn't have many friends…and he compared himself to Dars Bitter Chocolate…which implies although he's sweet, he is bitter too," the blonde wondered aloud. "Perhaps he's bitter because he's alone and lonely. I would be…Why is there no radio in here?" Deneve had been wandering around the room, talking to herself, as she searched for a radio to entertain herself. Her wallet hadn't been the only thing she'd forgotten at home; her iPod was on her nightstand beside her bed.

Upon completing her inspection of the entire room, the search for a radio, even a radio on the alarm clock by the bed, proved fruitless. Deneve scowled. "What the hell! They can afford all this but they can't afford a radio? How lame." Maybe Ryuzaki would have one. She left her room to ask and paused as she was about to rap her fist on Ryuzaki's room.

_Should I really bother Ryuzaki over a radio?_ the blonde wondered, sucking in her lips uncertainly. I_ mean, I'm sure I could find something else to do, but a radio would keep me occupied the longest. Damnit, why did I charge out of my room and then suddenly lose my confidence? Either knock or go back in your hotel room!_

About to retreat to her room, Deneve froze when the door opened and Watari stood, glancing down at her. She blushed. "Um, do you have a radio? I couldn't find one in my room." Her cheeks felt redder than a fireball candy.

"I believe Mr. Ryuzaki has one, Miss Deneve. I'll get it for you." He shut the door. Deneve had assumed he would leave the door open so she could lean against the door frame or invite her in, but Watari had surprised her in an unpleasant manner. So maybe he wasn't totally a gentleman.

"Thanks," she mumbled sarcastically, crossing her arms and glancing down the hallway either way. The hall was empty. Watari opened the door shortly and handed Deneve the radio, and she politely thanked him before returning to her hotel room, automatically locking the door out of habit. Flopping on the soft, comfortable king-sized bed again, the blonde toyed with the radio and kept switching stations, a picky music lover.

_"—And she's an actress (actress), but she ain't got no need—"_

With a delighted gasp, Deneve hurriedly returned the station to one of her new favorite songs.

_"—parents in a trust fund back east. T-t-t-tongues always pressed to your cheeks, while my tongue is on the inside of some other girl's teeth. And tell your boyfriend, if he says he's got beef—"_

Not the best of songs, but her favorite part was the chorus, not the sensual verses in between. Lying on her stomach, waving her legs in the air, Deneve smiled and happily sung along. She waited for what was, in her opinion, the best part.

_"—scared of him. She wants to touch me woah, she wants to love me woah, she'll never leave me. Woah woah oh oh" _–her favorite part, but substituted with a 'he' instead of a 'she'—_"__Don't trust a hoe, never trust a hoe, won't trust a hoe that won't trust me." _Deneve placed the radio on the table beside the bed, and hopped up and down, singing along: _"She wants to touch me woah, she wants to love me woah, she'll never leave me. Woah woah oh oh! Don't trust a hoe, never trust a hoe, won't trust a hoe that won't trust me."_

After the song, she flopped backward onto the bed, bouncing once. The eye not covered with the gauze patch wandered to the clock. Four o'clock. Sunset would be in two or three hours. Biting her bottom lip, Deneve decided to push back the time to eight, maybe even nine, but at ten o'clock, she would have to book it home. Her parents would be doubly angry that their daughter stayed out so late and didn't tell them when she might be home.

And, speak of the devil, Deneve's cell phone rang.

Heart hammering in her chest, she quickly whipped the device out of her pocket and stared at the caller ID, sucking in her breath. Her dad. If she didn't answer…

"Moshi moshi," she greeted, flipping open the phone. Of both her parents, Deneve respected and feared her father the most.

"I heard you and Phillip got in another fight. What happened?" His tone was firm and stern like a judge's.

Deneve felt her throat dry. "Phillip wouldn't buy me ice cream, I got mad, and we fought. But during the fight, he called me fat and verbally attacked my eating habits, so I told him to stop trying to run my life."

"Any broken bones or stitches?"

"No."

"Where are you?"

"In a hotel with a friend I made at the park." Deneve wanted to be as vague as possible to keep Ryuzaki out of her family feud. Hopefully, her dad would be satisfied until she gave him an account later of what happened, except she would be vague when it concerned Ryuzaki and detailed where it concerned her brother. They didn't need to know she had spent the day with a total stranger, and a boy about her age no less. Her mother was already afraid there was a rapist just waiting on every street corner to kidnap her.

"Your mother and I already heard Phillip's side of the story, and we're working on a punishment to fit the crime, but I want to hear your side of the story first." This was why the blonde loved and respected her dad—he was the fairer parent, the most just of the pair. Her mother would be less forgiving. "For now, we've decided you and Phillip are definitely grounded for a week." Just as she'd suspected.

"Alright." As long as her sweets weren't confiscated, Deneve could live with any other sentence her parents threw at her.

"Try to be home by eight and there's leftover steak in the fridge from dinner. I love you."

"I love you too, dad."

"Bye."

"Bye." Shutting her phone, shoving the cellular device in her pocket, the blonde sighed with relief. "It wasn't as bad as I'd suspected…" A glance at the clock revealed she had three and a half more hours to play with Ryuzaki before she'd have to leave.

_No, not _have _to leave by eight_, she grinned as she played with the radio dials. _My dad said_ try _to be home by eight, but he probably put that loophole there on purpose because he knows I'd notice it. I also don't have to tell him much about Ryuzaki because he wasn't involved with the fight with my brother…but my dad will be curious who I hung out with and why it was in a hotel…_

Two hours of peaceful radio-listening and T.V. watching passed without significant note. Dancing, singing, raiding the little fridge, and even taking a shower, Deneve sat on the bed in her bathrobe as she finished off a handful of cherry tomatoes. The hotel room even had a little kitchen!

She stared at the clock in worry. What if Ryuzaki wasn't finished in time? What would she do? She wanted to at least tell him goodbye, but at the same time she wanted to spend a few minutes hanging out him before she had to leave. Deneve instinctively knew it was highly unlikely she'd ever meet Ryuzaki again in her lifetime. Watari's suggestion about his lack of friends, Ryuzaki's own behavior, and her own suspicions proved that much. For once in her life, the blonde felt as though time was against her, against an interesting relationship she and the hunched, rumpled-looking friend could form if only they had the time…Time they did not have.

Deneve sighed, anxious and restless.

Dressing back in her baggy green pants and black t-shirt, she spent the better part of forty-five minutes blow-drying and combing her pesky golden curls. Then she picked at the edges of her bandages. Finally, Deneve peeled away the many bandages and delicately touched her wounds. Ugly bruises ranging from red to purple or even a light, sickly yellow decorated her limbs and body.

"Now I look part goth, part lady, and part fighter," she mused darkly, gazing at her reflection. Leaning close to the mirror, Deneve squinted in the mirror to see the reflection of the numbers on the digital clock near the bed. Seven twenty. "It's unlikely I'll make it home by eight," she murmured, texting those words her dad. "C'mon Ryuzaki. If you make it in here before nine thirty, I'll kiss you on the cheek. I'll kiss you on the lips if you arrive earlier than nine thirty."

Restlessly, Deneve paced. At eight, someone knocked on the door and the blonde felt her heart soar as she raced to the door, hurriedly unlocking it. To her dissatisfaction, the 'someone' was Watari, not Ryuzaki, but she kept a smile on her face to conceal her bitter disappointment. "Yes?" she asked curiously.

"Mr. Ryuzaki wanted me to check on you," the old man told her.

Deneve thought she couldn't sunken any lower in her pit of anxious frustration and disappointment, yet she did. If Watari had been sent to check on her, it implied Ryuzaki might not be done for a while, maybe not even by ten o'clock. "Oh…" she tried to think of a good answer, knowing Watari would repeat it to Ryuzaki. "I'm…fine. Hanging in there." The blonde held back a sigh. _'I'm only dying of boredom.'_

"Miss Deneve, are you supposed to leave your bandages on?"

She shrugged. "Bruises and a few cuts are nothing."

"Is there anything you would like me to tell Ryuzaki?" Watari asked.

Immediately, a slow half-smirk, half-smile formed on Deneve's lips and she felt mischievous. The old man couldn't have asked a better, or worse, question. "Yes," she answered decidedly. "Yes, tell him…that I have to leave by ten o'clock and…if I see him before then, I'm as liable to kiss him as I am to punch him. Tell him I definitely won't leave without saying goodbye though."

* * *

Don't own Death Note (I wish), "Don't Trust Me" by 3OH!3 or any music to be mentioned from hence forth


	3. A Sweet Farewell

Deneve left her door unlocked. Lying on her stomach on the king-sized bed, she laid there staring at the door unblinkingly, unable to stop smiling. If Watari had delivered her message, Ryuzaki would be on guard if he decided to grace her with his presence. She still hadn't decided whether she would kiss him for coming, punch him for leaving her in the room alone for hours, or both.

However, if Ryuzaki came in before nine, Deneve would have to keep her promise with herself and kiss him on the lips. If he came after, it would be on the cheek. Part of her hoped he would arrive before nine. The blonde had never kissed anyone outside family, much less any guy on the lips. To her male friends, she was one of the guys. Then again, Deneve hoped Ryuzaki would come after nine because she'd never kissed a guy, so she wasn't sure how good of a kisser she was.

Either way, nine approached and she laid in wait on the bed, butterflies in her stomach.

Her heart leapt as the door opened, and in came Ryuzaki holding strawberry shortcake balanced in one hand. Deneve's cheeks began to ache from smiling so hard, and she felt more restless with energy now than she had been for the past few hours.

Seeing her smiling and staring at him with a look that screamed trouble, Ryuzaki looked understandably nervous as he frowned, cautiously heading toward the table. When he placed the cake down, Deneve sat up on the bed and slid off, feeling oddly energized as though she had a sugar rush. She practically ran to Ryuzaki and bowled him over when she hugged him, squealing with happiness; he staggered, grunting at the impact, his arms wrapped around her waist.

"You came before nine!" she squealed, giving him a gentle squeeze.

Ryuzaki made an "oomph" grunt as she squeezed him. "I thought you had to leave at ten." His flat voice sounded a little strained, probably due to the lack of oxygen.

"I do." She arched her back a little to smile up at her newest friend. He regarded her with surprised eyes, his lips together in a bemused frown, and it occurred to Deneve that, up close, Ryuzaki looked cute, even handsome. With that revelation, the blonde also realized they were in a rather intimate position—her leaning on him, embracing, with their bodies pressed together. Before she lost her nerve, Deneve quickly stood on her tiptoes and pecked Ryuzaki on the lips, too nervous and embarrassed to give him a long, soft one as she'd planned. She leaned back, redder than licorice.

"That's for coming before nine," she told him. Ryuzaki's mouth drooped open a little and one of his arms moved from holding her waist to touch his lips, stunned. Deneve guessed that was his first kiss too. "If you had come after nine, I would have kissed your cheek." Noticing his cheeks beginning to red, she laughed. "Wow, that was a late reaction, Ryuzaki."

"Why would you kiss me just because of a certain time?" he asked, the cherry Jolly-Rancher-red glaringly obvious on his pasty white face.

"A way to pass the time, and look forward to your arrival," she muttered, feeling her cheeks flare again and hurriedly changed the subject. "Um, how about that strawberry shortcake?" Feeling jittery as if she still had a sugar high, Deneve quickly stepped away from Ryuzaki and sat in a chair by the table where the cake was. After staring at her for a few moments, the black-haired young man joined her and cut the cake in half. They ate in the awkward quiet.

"Why did you tell Watari you were as liable to kiss me as you were to punch me?" Ryuzaki asked. He held his fork between his thumb and index finger as if his fingers would contaminate the piece of cake on the other end.

Deneve smiled, spearing her own rectangle of strawberry shortcake. "I wanted you to know I was annoyed at being left in a room alone for hours, but I looked forward to you coming. I didn't want to scare you away, just have you on guard for the unexpected; men often complain women are too unpredictable. However, I gave you fair warning."

"Hmm…"

"How often do you sleep in one day?" she asked impulsively.

Ryuzaki's black eyes darted up from the cake, fork in his mouth. "Two to three hours a day if I'm lucky."

The cake Deneve had just put her mouth fell onto her plate. "Holy shit," she blurted out, astonished, wiping her mouth. Her cheeks reddened a little. "How do you pull _that _off?"

"Watari says I was born without a biological clock or sense of time," Ryuzaki told her, smiling faintly.

Deneve scooped the fallen piece of cake into her mouth. "So that's why you eat so much sugar," she mused.

By ten minutes before nine thirty, both had finished their portions of half the strawberry shortcake and Deneve was glad she had had the foresight to eat a very light dinner. She sighed with content. "So…what do you want to do?" she asked.

"What do you want to do?"

"I don't know," the blonde admitted. "I've been doing what I wanted to do for five hours and I'm a little tired of doing what I want to do."

"What did you do?"

Deneve's grin inched up. Their conversation sounded like a riddle. "Let's see. I stared at the ceiling, listened to the radio, sang, danced, bounced on the bed, took a shower, raided the fridge…" She tapped her bottom lip gently with her fork. "Hmm…paced, took off my bandages, did my hair, and iced my eye for a while."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

"It is when you know you're running out of time and you're biting your nails while waiting for someone," the blonde pointed out, standing from her chair. Deneve stretched leisurely, rolling her shoulders. Just for the fun of it, she ran and jumped on the bed again. "I'll never tire of doing that," she grinned, bouncing once before settling on the surface.

Setting the fork on his empty plate, Ryuzaki placed his thumb on his bottom lip as he slowly stood from his chair, shuffling toward the bed. Crawling on carefully, crouching in his usual position, the rumpled young man stared at Deneve, who lay on her back, smiling up at him. Reaching up, the blonde quickly mussed up Ryuzaki's hair more than it already was. His hair was soft.

He looked confused again. "If you had wanted to touch my hair, why not ask?"

"You're too smart," she smiled.

"Then why not touch my hair like this?" That said, Ryuzaki reached down and gently tangled his fingers in her yellow curls, because running fingers through small curls was impossible. Deneve felt breathless. He rubbed her hair between his index finger and thumb, as if to test its quality.

She blushed. "I didn't know if you liked your hair being touched."

"I wouldn't mind if you touched my hair."

Sitting up, Deneve rested left arm on Ryuzaki's knees and reached up to stroke his wild black licorice hair. As her hands neared, he flinched and her hand paused. So he didn't like being touched...

"I won't hurt you," she promised softly. Slowly, delicately, the blonde patted his head, ignoring Ryuzaki's slight flinch, and caressed his scalp. They spent a few minutes handling each other's hair until Deneve heard voices, disembodied voices. She frowned, eyebrows furrowing and Ryuzaki stopped.

The blonde glanced over at the table beside the bed. "Oops, I left the radio on. Wait, I recognize this song." Leaning over, she turned up the dial.

_"And I'd give up forever to touch you…"_

"Yes! We caught the beginning!" she whispered, cranking the volume further before she sat back. Unintentionally, her right eye glimpsed at the clock. Nine forty-five.

_"'Cause I know that you feel me somehow…You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be and I don't want to go home right now. And all I can taste is this moment and all I can breathe is your life 'cause sooner or later it's over…I just don't want to miss you tonight…"_

Deneve wondered how something could be ironic and coincidental before it became creepy. The song –_Iris_ by Goo Goo Dolls—perfectly described her feelings toward Ryuzaki and their remaining time.

_"And I don't want the world to see me 'cause I don't think that they'd understand. When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am…"_

Trying to smile convincingly without giving away her growing sadness, Deneve whispered during the short musical interlude, "Good song, huh?" Ryuzaki seemed hypnotized by the radio, staring keenly at it.

_"And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming…"_

_I think I might cry_, the blonde mentally wailed.

_"Or the moment of truth in your lies…When everything feels like the movies, yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive. And I don't want the world to see me 'cause I don't think that they'd understand. When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am…"_

Trying to block out the music that currently yanked her heart strings, Deneve grappled with her emotions, _No, no I will not cry! What the hell? Why am I so emotional today?_ She partially recovered during the next longer musical interlude, distracting herself by staring at Ryuzaki.

_"And I don't want the world to see me 'cause I don't think that they'd understand. When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am…"_

_I'll miss him…No, it's not ten o'clock yet! Blink, woman, blink! You will not cry! _She took deep, soft breaths.

_"And I don't want the world to see me 'cause I don't think that they'd understand. When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am…"_

_First the answering-the-door-thing, and now this! I don't want to go home though. I want to get to know Ryuzaki and be friends with him…Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid…_

_"I just want you to know who I am, I just want you to know who I am, I just want you to know who I am…"_

Oblivious to Deneve struggling to handle her rampaging emotions, Ryuzaki seemed to be broken from his enchantment by the DJ's voice. He leaned over and switched off the radio. "I like that song. What's it called?" he asked.

Deneve stared at the bed comforter, taking in measured breaths, and fought not to cry. However, with Ryuzaki speaking, his monotone voice only reminded her that she had less than ten minutes before she had to go home. Underneath the gauze, her left eye had already begun watering but the patch concealed the tears.

Ryuzaki's hand touched her shoulder lightly, causing Deneve to inhale sharply. "Is something wrong?" She nearly lost it then. The light concern in his voice was evident.

"_Iris_." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "The song's called _Iris_ b-by the Goo Goo Dolls."

"You didn't answer my second question." Now the blonde could hear the frown in his tone, but kept silent. Speaking with a lump choking her throat would be too difficult.

"Does your left eye hurt?" Ryuzaki asked, gently touching her left cheek. Just like he had touched her cheek so many hours ago. The blonde shook her head, a sob stuck in her throat.

"Deneve?"

It was the first time he'd said her name; and it made her lose the little control she had left. Hugging Ryuzaki's knees, she buried her eye sockets on his knee caps as her chest heaved painfully. Strangled, alien noises escaped her mouth. Deneve hated herself for being so emotional, so weak.

A hand comfortingly patted her head, consoling the distraught young woman a little. "I have to agree with what you said earlier. Women are unpredictable, no, you are nearly unpredictable."

Stuffing down her sadness –she could cry at home in bed, feigning exhaustion—Deneve sat up and hurriedly wiped her watery eyes with an unsteady chuckle. She lightly punched Ryuzaki's shin. "Yeah, I guess I'm a little unpredictable," she admitted, "but I don't want to leave. You're too fun for your own good, Ryuzaki."

Cupping her face in his hands, he smiled, his face lighting up softly again, and he leaned in, whispering, "You're too sweet for your own good, Deneve." As she'd expected he kissed her, minding her split bottom lip. The blonde, on the other hand, pushed forward, giving the chaste kiss a little more ferocity. Her earlier words echoed in her mind.

_"Oops! Um, you're not tasty. I mean, I wouldn't know that or anything because—I'm shutting up now."_

Ryuzaki was tasty. Better, he was sweet. Some of the strawberry shortcake lingered on his lips from their earlier snack. Unsure what defined a good kisser from a bad one, all Deneve could think was 'yummy' and 'wow'.

Pulling their faces apart, actually moving hers back, Ryuzaki's cheeks were flushed and his lips had traces of red on them. Her blood from her split lip. "That was a goodbye kiss," he explained.

"Uh huh." She grinned goofily. "I feel like I'm on a sugar high."

Ryuzaki mimicked her smile. "Me too."

"What do I taste like, if you don't mind my asking, Ryuzaki?" Deneve asked.

"Blood, salt, and strawberry shortcake—bittersweet."

"Hm, you taste like the strawberry shortcake too. Very sweet," she giggled. "We're rubbing off on each other."

"It's ten fifteen," Ryuzaki reminded her, releasing her face. "You are going to be late."

"My parents won't mind…too much…I hope," Deneve said sheepishly.

* * *

I'll leave the rest to your imaginations, dirty or not.


End file.
